


Write Drunk, Edit Sober

by Em_Jaye



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Awkwardness, F/M, I Blame Tumblr, My First Work in This Fandom, Out of Character, Pre-Relationship, SHIELD Agent Darcy Lewis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-11
Updated: 2014-12-16
Packaged: 2018-03-01 00:24:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2752667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Em_Jaye/pseuds/Em_Jaye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Darcy likes working in the SHIELD archives.  She does.  She's definitely not bored out of her mind and definitely not looking up her new super friends on the internet.  And even if she is, she's DEFINITELY not reading fanfic about them.  Nope.  Definitely not doing that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Write Drunk

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Flux and Dustjackets](https://archiveofourown.org/works/529450) by [silvercistern](https://archiveofourown.org/users/silvercistern/pseuds/silvercistern). 



> I don’t know what I’m doing here. I thought I’d quit the fandom life…but I’m blaming Chris Evans’ abs and Kat Dennings’ sass on this one. It’s an idea I’ve seen expressed in other fandoms but haven’t come across here yet. There will be 2 parts to this monstrosity, depending on how it’s received, I guess? Possibly 3? Something like that. Anyway, all of the opinions on fanfic (and especially Captain America fanfic) are—hopefully obviously—not my actual opinion. You guys are killing it. Please never stop writing this pairing.

 

 

 

 

                For the most part, Darcy Lewis liked her new job.  It was considerably less stressful than chasing Jane and Erik all over the world, risking her life for literally no pay on bizarre quests involving demigods and dark matter.  In fact, this new job paid well enough to live in a broom cupboard in New Rochelle _and_ it let her check in with her mad scientists without getting roped into their craziness or forced on Starbucks runs.

                Her parents were impressed and nagged a lot less now that she had a SHIELD ID badge that read: _Darcy Lewis: Archival Specialist._ A badge that gave her dominion over SHIELD’s entire written history and any and all pieces of evidence and confiscated artifacts.  A badge that almost made sense with her Political Science degree and Library Science minor and kept her safely out of harm’s way. 

                And as far as name badges went, this one looked a lot more important than _Darcy Lewis: Unpaid, Overworked Intern._

It looked a lot more important, but it wasn’t really.

                In fact, being a SHIELD Archival Specialist was about as far removed from important as Darcy had been in a long time.  It was a job that consisted almost entirely of sitting at the desk in the basement of SHIELD HQ, babysitting a farm of filing cabinets and pulling files for anyone who asked.

                Only, no one asked for physical files anymore.  So mostly, she emailed pdfs.  Lots and lots of pdfs.

                And played games on her cell phone.

                And listened to music.

                And trolled the internet, laughing at Tony Stark rumors and anonymously contributing to websites like BlandAvengersFacts.com and the popular Avengers topics on Tumblr and Twitter.

                All well trying to remember why she had asked Jane to put in a good word for her when she had applied for this job.

                Her phone buzzed with a text message.                 

                _Hi Darcy,_

_I need the debrief and ballistics reports from Port-au-Prince, August 31 st of this year.  Are you able to get it for me?_

_Thanks,  
                Steve  
  
                _ Darcy smiled.  _Oh yeah_ , she thought, rolling her eyes.  _That’s why_.

                There were three people who ever requested physical files: Phil Coulson (because he liked to have something to be reading, so he could look up and pretend to be annoyed when people entered his office), Director Fury (because he liked to have something lightweight to whack over the heads of his more incompetent agents) and Steve Rogers (because he still hadn’t figured out how to print directly from email).

                Of these three, Steve was her favorite customer, if only for the way he sent oddly formal text messages for the files he needed and because he was always so darn appreciative and acted like she’d really gone out of her way to fetch them for him. And because of how he didn’t leer at her like the other drones; he was always so polite and kept his eyes firmly on her face when he spoke to her.

                It definitely wasn’t because of the way he smiled and said things like, “Thanks, doll,” when he came to pick them up, or how her skin tingled when her fingers brushed his.  And it definitely, _definitely_ wasn’t because of those lips that were begging her to do unspeakable things to them or his unfathomable shoulder-to-hip ratio that had whipped the internet into such a frenzy, or those criminally long eyelashes of his.

                Nope.  Wasn’t any of those things at all.

                Darcy just liked to feel appreciated sometimes.

                She smiled down at her phone and typed back, _No problem, Commander.  Give me fifteen,_ before she entered his request into her database.

It was an adorably long time before she received his reply.  _Thank you!  :)_ _  
_

“Oh, just look at that smiley,” she said out loud to herself. “He’s too cute,” she assessed before she slid off of her stool and made her way through the winding maze of black filing cabinets to find what Steve was looking for.

                Darcy only needed nine of the fifteen minutes she had requested.  That gave her six whole minutes to stare at the files and let her eyes shift from the beige folders and her notebook.  It would only be too easy to open that notebook, extract the first page and slip it inside the top folder waiting for Steve.

                And then, if she did that, it would be almost effortless to say something simple and passive like, “Be sure to check those over before your meeting, Cap. Make sure I gave you the right stuff.”  

                And he’d smile and say, “I’m sure it’s the right one, doll.  Thanks for having it ready.”

                And then she’d go, “No problem,” with a little salute. “Just doin’ my job.”

                But that would be enough to plant the seed in his brain and he’d probably wait until he was in the elevator, on his way back up to his office, before he casually flipped open the folder and discovered the note she’d been working on for the last three weeks.

                She opened her notebook and stared down at her carefully crafted invitation with a frown.  Pathetic, really, that it had taken her so long to string together twenty-nine words. 

_Dear Steve,_

_Coffee sometime?_

_YES                        NO_

_(circle one and return to sender)_  
  
-Darcy

_PS: If the answer is no, it’s no big deal.  Just don’t make it weird.  Promise?_

                Three weeks of staring at this note.  Three weeks of waiting for the courage to slip it to Steve in some direct, but discreet way.  Three weeks of doing absolutely nothing to alleviate the symptoms of this ridiculous, middle-school crush.

                The elevator dinged and Darcy instinctively shut her notebook and tucked it safely underneath her desk.  She felt herself smile almost involuntarily at the sight of Steve making his way toward her.  “If it isn’t my favorite super soldier,” she greeted brightly.

                 “If it isn’t my favorite archival specialist,” he countered, returning her grin.  “How’s Darcy this morning?”

                “Perfectly delightful,” she said, dropping her elbows onto the desk to prop her chin onto the heel of her hand.  “And almost entirely awake, too.”

                He laughed and accepted the folder slid his way. His eyes slid from hers to the monitor on her right.  “Anything happening on the internet that I should know about?”

                 Darcy followed his gaze and self-consciously clicked away from AvengersFics.com, even though there was no way he could tell what she’d spent her morning reading.  “Not unless you care about Kim Kardashian’s giant, oiled ass all over the media or the newest royal baby bump.”

                Steve blinked. “I…do not care about those things, but thank you for the catch-up.”

                She smiled. “Anytime, Cap.” 

                The silence that passed over them after that was predictable and briefly awkward and would have been the perfect place to open her mouth and just ask him out for a cup of coffee, only he looked like he was about to say something too, and it would be rude to interrupt.

                Or perhaps not, she reconsidered, because another few seconds passed and neither of them said anything.  Darcy cleared her throat.  “So yeah,” she drummed her fingernails on the small stack of manila folders between them. “Debrief, ballistics, all the fun stuff you asked for.”

                Steve brightened again.  “Yeah,” he echoed, rubbing the back of his neck for a moment before he straightened to his full height. “That’s great.  Thanks, Darcy.  I really appreciate it.”

                Of course he did. Bless his cotton socks.

                Darcy felt herself smiling back, even as she watched another opportunity grow wings and flutter up the elevator shaft.  “I know,” she said. “All in a day’s work.  Good luck at your meeting.”

                “Thanks.”

                And then he left with one of those little waves over his shoulder and Darcy was left with a strong urge to smash her head against the desk.

               

***

 

                Jane hugged her sweater tighter around her midsection and took a sip of her tea.  “But you like it?” she asked, skeptically as they rounded the turn of the path through Madison Square Park.

                Darcy shrugged, wishing she’d brought a warmer coat.  Who exactly told November it was allowed to be so damn cold so early?  “Sure,” she said easily.  “It’s fine.  It’s not like they were going to let me stay as your assistant.”

                Jane frowned.  “I know, I’m sorry.  I tried really hard.”

                She gave her a sideways smile. “I know you did.”

                “But it’s still a good fit, right?” Jane continued, looking anxious.  “You don’t _hate_ it…do you?”

                “No,” Darcy assured her. “I don’t _hate_ it.  It’s a little lonely but,” she shrugged again.  “I’ve been catching up on my internet time.”

                Jane wrinkled her nose. “Oh God, you’re not still looking up everyone on the internet, are you?”

                “Honestly?  I’ve gone to a darker place in my solitude.”

                Her confession was met with a raised eyebrow.  “What’s darker than letting strangers know that Bruce is lactose intolerant and Thor is obsessive compulsive about how he folds the laundry?  And what kind of people go to a website like that, anyway?”

                “Bland Avengers Facts? _All_ kinds of kinds, Jane.  Seriously—people gobble that stuff up.  It has like, twenty million followers.”

                Jane shook her head.  “Ugh, the internet is _such_ a strange place.”

                “You have no idea.”

                “So I hesitate to ask,” she continued. “But what have you been looking up?”

                “I stumbled upon it by accident,” she admitted. “But now I can’t seem to look away…it’s like a…”

                “Schadenfreude?”

                Darcy gave her a sideways look.  “I was going to say train wreck…but whatever.”  She let the shame gulp her back down again and she covered her eyes with her hand. “People write things…on the internet.  About the Avengers.”

                Jane’s eyebrow quirked again.  “They write things?”

                “It’s fanfic,” she said quickly.  “I mean, I guess that’s technically the genre…but anyway, it’s where you—”

                “Darcy,” Jane interrupted, “I have three degrees in astrophysics. You don’t think I’ve read some fanfiction in my day? I _know_ what fanfic is.  I just didn’t realize that you could write it about real people.”

                “It’s the redheaded stepchild of the fanfic community.”

                “And people really write it about Thor and everyone else?”

                She couldn’t help but laugh. “You should _see_ the things people write about! It’s in _sane_.”

                “I’m not sure I want to,” her companion said, taking another drink of her tea. “ _You_ don’t write any, do you?”

                “Oh, no,” she shook her head. “I just can’t stop reading it for some reason.  Seriously.  The stuff people come up with... I mean, it gets _dark_ on those sites.”

                “Ugh, stop,” Jane held up a hand.  “This is too weird, even for you and me.”

                “Okay,” Darcy backed down immediately and sipped her chai. “Not another word.  How’s the new project?”

                “It’s good,” Jane tucked her hair behind her ears.  “It’s actually something I’ve wanted to dive deeper into for a while now…” she trailed off and bit her bottom lip.  “How dark?” she asked after a moment of thoughtful silence.

                Darcy smiled.  “Pretty dark,” she admitted.  “Especially about Tony—people _love_ writing about Tony,” she shook her head at the memory.  “Seriously, they pair him with _everyone._   He’s like the fandom bicycle.”

                Jane let out a laugh that was halfway between disgusted and amused.  “Tony?” she asked. “What are they writing about Tony?”  She grew contemplative for a second while Darcy waited patiently for her next, inevitable question. “Do people write about Thor?”  She paused. “Do they write about _me_?  No, wait.  Don’t answer that.  I don’t want to know.  Do I?”

                “I’m going to wait until that train of thought circles back around before I jump on,” Darcy said, hiding her grin in her coffee cup.

                “Never mind,” Jane said definitively.  “I don’t want to know.”

                They were quiet for a few paces before Darcy cleared her throat.  “Don’t worry; people like you,” she said quietly.  “They’re usually very complimentary when you’re involved.”

                Jane’s pleased smile was probably a little wider than she meant it to be before it dimmed. “Usually?”

                “Don’t worry,” she assured her friend. “When they’re mean—or if they write you totally out of character—I report them.”

                Jane choked on her tea.  “You _report_ them?!  To whom?”

                “To the site mods,” she shrugged casually.  “Look, real person fanfic is a dark and twisty rabbit hole and the more garbage I can personally weed out, the better.”

                “Well…um…thank you?” she stumbled.  “I think?”

                “You’re welcome,” Darcy said brightly.

                “So how’s the other project you’ve been working on?” Jane asked after another few moments of comfortable silence.  “The uh, tall blonde and super-soldiery one?”

                “Yeah, I actually knew which project you were talking about before you said that,” she commented with a roll of her eyes.  “It’s going nowhere, which is the exact direction it’s been heading in since the beginning.”

                “So you haven’t asked him out for coffee yet?”

                “I’ve tried!” she moaned.  “I just get flustered and tongue-tied and he always looks so uncomfortable every time I think I might have an opportunity to say something it’s just…” she huffed.  “It’s pointless.”

                “You don’t usually have this much trouble,” Jane commented thoughtfully as they rounded the next bend.

                “Well yeah,” Darcy rolled her eyes.  “Give me a wiry hipster in skinny jeans and I’ve got that shit on _lockdown_ ,” Jane snorted but let her continue.  “But…I don’t know…I mean, it’s _Steve Rogers_ , y’know?  The guy legitimately has trading cards with his face on them.  I’ve never asked out a guy who has trading cards before.”

                “What happened to the note idea? I liked the note idea.”

                “I wrote it,” she said with a glance down at her shoes. “I just…y’know…can’t seem to take the next step and actually give it to him.”

                Jane gave her another sideways look.  “Want me to give it to him?”

                Darcy scoffed.  “What is this? Sixth grade?  I’m a grown woman—I can deliver my own ‘Do you like me, check yes or no’ note to my secret crush, thank you.”

                Jane held up her hands in surrender.  “I’m just asking!”

                She sighed.  “I know.  And I appreciate it.  I just…have to work up the guts to do it myself.”

                “You know, he’s surprisingly shy for someone so…”

                “Swoon-worthy?” Darcy finished glumly.

                “He is,” Jane insisted.  “I don’t think you should give up on it—just maybe change your approach.  He really does have a thing for strong women…maybe you should be more yourself…your direct, take-no-prisoners, strong and fearless self.”

                At that, Darcy allowed herself a smile.  “You think I’m strong and fearless?”

                “Most of the time,” Jane said, bumping her shoulder.  “I’m telling you, direct is the way to go.”

                “Direct is scary,” she said flatly.  “And the coffee note is direct…sort of.”

                “It’s only direct if you actually go through with it,” her former boss reminded her.

                “I know,” she repeated.  “Guts, remember?  I’m working on getting some.”

                “Well…get some soon,” Jane commanded. “I don’t like seeing you so mopey and unsure of yourself—it’s unsettling.”

                “Yes ma’am,” she said with a nod as the park gates came into view.  She nudged Jane with her shoulder.  “In the meantime, cheer me up.  Tell me how much you hate your interns.”

                Jane grimaced and ground her teeth.  “I _do_ hate them.  They’re so jumpy and nervous around me and always stop talking when I come into the room.”

                “That’s because they think you’re brilliant and important,” Darcy said with a wave of her hand.  “They haven’t figured out that you’re a person too.”  She took a thoughtful sip of her chai.  “You should start showing up to work in your plaid shirts and bunny slippers again.”

                Her companion frowned. “One of my bunny slippers got lost in the move here,” she said sadly.

                Darcy brightened.  “Well now I know what to get you for Christmas.”  Her words brought the smile back to Jane’s face and she nudged her again.  “C’mon,” she said coyly.  “Who was the best intern ever?”

                Jane sighed. “You were, Darcy.”

                She finished her drink with a victorious gulp and sunk the empty cup soundly into the nearest garbage can.  “Damn straight.”

 

***

 

                Her roommate had taken the train home to Philly for a long weekend, leaving Darcy blissfully alone in her apartment on a Thursday night with no one to keep her from watching her backlog of The Blacklist.

                And drinking a little wine…

                And maybe getting her fix of internets before her eyelids grew heavy and she found herself passed out on the couch, spilling the contents of her glass, adding another immovable stain to the carpet. 

                And drinking a little more wine…

                And taking a spin through her new favorite ring of websites, catching up on what scenarios people were dreaming of involving her favorite band of super—

                “Oh please,” Darcy interrupted her own train of thought as she scrolled through the end of a particularly racy Captain America one-shot.  “Steve would never be that direct,” she commented under her breath, taking another gulp of cheap pinot noir.  “These girls have no idea…”  She didn’t mind that she was talking aloud to herself as her fingers scrolled through one story after another, each author painting their favorite American icon as some kind of star-spangled Christian Grey.

                It shouldn’t have bothered her as much as it did, the way these women were getting it all wrong.  He wasn’t the persona he had to use when he was in the field.  He wasn’t take-charge and commanding at all, really.  He was Steve, kind but still terribly awkward Steve who managed to run into a filing cabinet at least once every time he visited her.  Who so politely asked for new music recommendations and whose ears turned red when he was pleased or embarrassed.  The Steve she knew wasn’t anywhere in these stories.  This was all Captain America and it seemed to Darcy that these particular fans were missing the best part of the deal.

                “Or maybe not,” she muttered, emptying the last drops of her bottle into the glass as her fingers began to fly over the keys. These people only had the handsome, crime-fighting American hero starring in their fantasies.  They didn’t have the crushing reality of dealing with Steve-the-Person who didn’t seem to know what to do with a woman who was ready and waiting and quite literally standing directly in front of him, throwing out the _Please Date Me_ vibe. 

                “If they only knew how dense he is,” she shook her head. “How you can literally send the man vast acres of hints and not have him pick up on a single one.”  Her glasses were shoved back to their rightful place on the bridge of her nose as she found herself in a comment war with one of the authors.

                “Who are they even writing about?” she continued sourly, far too invested for someone still clinging to her delusion of sobriety. “Like Steve Rogers is just going to shuck every outdated, polite instinct he owns and rock your world because you, what?” she leaned in and squinted at the screen, “put on a pair of seamed stockings and peep-toes?”  Her scoff echoed through the empty living room.  “Please!  She lamented to her framed poster of Philip Seymour Hoffman.  “Do they even know, Philip?”  She shook her head again, rattling her curls down into her face.  “They couldn’t possibly.” 

                Her word document was open before she could realize what she was doing.  “You gonna learn today,” she informed the internet, her fingers zipping out words faster than she could think them.  “I’ll show  _you_ how to fantasize about Steve Rogers.” 

 

***

 

                Darcy awoke the next morning with a hangover and two hundred and twenty-seven new interactions on Tumblr.

 

                               

               

                               

 


	2. Edit Sober

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the wonderful response to my first ever AO3 posting! I hope the next part doesn't disappoint. This will officially be 3 parts now because I'm wordy and I couldn't stop writing.

                                                                                                                  

                Steve’s Friday started out the same as any other day—up at dawn, run through Central Park, breakfast and a shower before heading in to work.  Only _this_ Friday, he told himself with each footfall against the concrete and each mouthful of scrambled eggs…. _this_ Friday was different.  Because _this_ Friday was the day he was going to ask Darcy Lewis out for dinner.  Or coffee.  Or maybe drinks.

                Only, he didn’t know if Darcy drank.  And would it be rude to imply or assume that she did? And he didn’t really drink anyway, so…maybe a drink was the wrong beverage to suggest.  Coffee was probably a better option.  But coffee would most likely mean Starbucks and he’d be unable to hide just how intimidated he still was by all the options there.  And that just wasn’t attractive.  He ran his hands over his face as the hot water rinsed the shampoo from his hair.  This was so much easier when he could just ask a woman to go dancing.

                Although, he considered to himself as he turned off the water, he had never actually done that when it had been an option and he _still_ didn’t know how to dance, either. So maybe he was just doomed to romantic uncertainty no matter what decade he ended up in.

                He didn’t need the files he texted her for.  He never actually _needed_ physical files anymore since Natasha had set up his printer for him; the pdfs were just as easy to access and would have saved him a bunch of time.  But then he wouldn’t have any opportunity to see her and he’d miss her stupid jokes and little salutes and her smile and her giant blue eyes that always seemed to brighten when they landed on him.

                At least, he had himself almost convinced that they did.  His phone dinged with her almost immediate response. _I’ll have ‘em for you in four shakes, Cap._

                Steve smiled down at his screen as he painstakingly tapped out a response. _I thought it was usually two shakes._

It was unnerving how quickly she was able to shoot back a message when it took him so long to navigate his auto-correct responses and suggested words. _I’m moving a little slower than usual today,_ she texted before she followed up with, _I was overzealous with my self-serve capabilities last night._

Steve didn’t know how to react to that…because he wasn’t quite sure what she was implying.  He thought he knew, but there was always a chance he’d misread something.  He played it safe.  _Thanks, doll.  See you in a while._

She was behind the desk when he arrived, having successfully navigated the aisles of filing cabinets without running into one.  It was a small comfort that with her head in her arms and her glasses askew that she couldn’t hear how his heart was pounding or tell that his palms had grown clammy. 

                “D-Darcy?” he stuttered with concern as he approached the desk.

                Her head shot up too quickly and she greeted him with a groan as her face contorted in a painful wince. “Too much,” she said to herself, holding her temples.  He recognized that look immediately and made a mental note for the future that Darcy did, apparently, drink from time to time.  She slid her eyes up to meet his and managed a smile.  “Good morning, Cap.”

                Steve felt his smile mirror hers. “Good morning, Miss Lewis.”  Unable to help himself, he reached out and gently pushed her glasses back to their rightful place.  The scrawny asthmatic who still lived inside his head gave him a thumbs-up for being so smooth.  He bit back another grin as she tried unsuccessfully to right her misplaced curls.  “So…rough night, huh?”

                “Mmm,” she raised her eyebrows, looking unimpressed.  “I’ve seen Chitauri…The Destroyer…Dark Elves…but you want to know what’s _really_ evil?”  She licked her lips and refocused her eyes on him.  “Woodbridge.”       

                Steve’s laugh was loud and not silenced quickly enough to pull off sympathetic.  She scrunched up her nose and squinted her eyes in a way that was almost too adorable.  He thought that if she was feeling better, this might be just the perfect moment he’d been waiting for to summon his courage and ask her out.

                But she wasn’t feeling better—she was miserable and fighting a cheap wine hangover and it just wouldn’t be right to spring a question like that on her right now.  So he looked down at his shoes and swallowed back the words that were sitting on the tip of his tongue.  _Monday_ , he told himself.  _I’ll ask her Monday._

Her expression had turned thoughtful by the time he raised his eyes again.  “What’s up, Steve?” she asked, tilting her head to one side.  “You’ve got sort of a…pensive thing going on,” she waved her hand back in forth in front of her own face, gesturing to his expression.

                He smiled and reminded himself to work on his poker face. “That’s just my face, I think.  Don’t worry about it.” He cleared his throat.  “Did you take anything for your, uh…”

                “Crippling reminder of my lack of self-control?” she finished for him, rubbing her temple again.  “No, I was late this morning and I think I became an internet sensation overnight…” she shook her head gently.  “It’s a whole thing. Anyway,” she straightened up. “The point is, I have not taken anything—I deserve this punishment.”

                Steve chuckled and put a hand on the files she’d pulled for him. “Next time, make yourself some onion soup,” he said, hoping to stave off their predictably uncomfortable moment of silence.

                She raised an eyebrow.  “Onion soup?  Really?”

                “Doesn’t sound appealing,” he said with a smile.  “But it’s the best cure there is.”

                Darcy grinned.  “Is Captain America supposed to be endorsing hangover cures?”

                “Nah,” he shook his head, feeling his ears turn red.  “Captain America doesn’t know anything about hangover cures.  That’s a Steve Rogers trick of the trade.”  Technically, he thought with a twist in his gut, it was a Winifred Barnes trick of the trade.  If he closed his eyes, he could be back in Bucky’s kitchen in a heartbeat, listening to Mrs. Barnes cluck and fuss over them as the slices of onion sizzled in her cast iron frying pan while Rebecca complained that they were making the whole apartment smell like feet.

                Darcy’s bright expression brought him back to the present.  “Got a recipe for me, soldier?  Not that I’m planning on doing this again anytime soon,” she clarified quickly. “But I like to be prepared.”

                “I can, uh,” he rubbed the back of his neck, feeling that anxious flip of his stomach, “I can check when I get home.”

                “Good,” she said with a nod.  “I’d appreciate it.”

                “Okay,” he said, sliding his pile of folders toward himself.  “Then I’ll do that.”

                “Great,” she said and dropped her eyes to the notebook stuffed with papers beside her.

                Ah yes, he grimaced internally.  Here they were again.

                _Hello, awkward silence, my old friend.  We’ve been expecting you._

“So I guess I’ll see you,” he said finally, picking up the files and tucking them under his arm.  “I hope you feel better.”

                She gave him a genuine smile.  “Thanks, Steve.  I’m already starting to.”

                There was a sparkle back in her eye, something relaxed and inviting about the way she was looking at him that almost summoned his courage again.  He opened his mouth to speak when behind him, the elevator bell dinged and Darcy’s face fell into an expression of deep confusion as she looked to the source of their interruption.

                “Jane?” she asked, shoving her glasses back where they belonged.

                “Hi,” Jane’s smile was bright and unassuming as she made her way to the desk.  She stopped short at the sight of him and tucked her hair behind her ears.  “Oh, hi Steve.  How are you?”

                “Not bad,” he grabbed his files.  “How are you, Dr. Foster?”

                “I’m very well, thank you,” she said with a smile before she glanced between him and Darcy.  “I’m sorry, was I interrupting something?”

                “Uh, no,” he coughed and glanced down at his shoes again.  Yep.  Still there.  “I was just leaving, actually.  I’ll let you two catch up.”

                “Oh,” Darcy’s frown was quick, but not quick enough to miss completely.  He felt a little better about coming back on Monday as she raised her hand and gave him a little waggle of her fingers. “Have a good weekend, Steve.”

                “You too, Darcy,” he gave Jane a nod, “Dr. Foster.”

                “See you,” she said cheerfully as he turned from them and made his way back to the elevator, stubbing his toe on the corner of the last filing cabinet when he risked a final look back over his shoulder.

                Monday.  He told himself as the elevator doors closed with finality.  Monday would be better.

***

                Steve had only just made it back to his office when he heard someone approaching him from behind. He turned, surprised to see Darcy jogging to reach him, a file folder clutched in her hand.  She skidded to a stop in front of him, looking out of breath and Steve was struck again by just how pretty she really was.  Her fair cheeks were flushed and her dark hair was a curly mess, falling around her shoulders and into her eyes.  “Darcy?”

                “Hi,” she repeated her breathless greeting from earlier.  Down the hall behind her, Jane had followed and stopped a safe distance away, crossing her arms over her chest and looking expectant.

                “…Did I forget something?” he asked uncertainly, eyeing the folder in her hand.

                “Yes,” she said with a definitive nod before she glanced down and bit her lip.  “You, uh, you forgot this.” She offered him a blank file folder.

                “Oh,” he felt his brow crinkle in confusion as he accepted and gave it a quick examination.  It was blank and felt nearly empty, with no writing or printing on the tab to indicate what could be inside.  He shifted the other files in his hands so that he could open the one in question, but Darcy’s hand flattened against it and stopped him.  He looked up.  “Something wrong?”

                “Don’t read that here,” she said, failing magnificently at being mysterious.  “Just…just read it when you get to your office.”  She gave him a look.  “Okay?”

                “Uh, yeah,” he swallowed hard.  “Okay.”

                “Good,” she gave him another efficient nod and he wondered if he should be standing at attention.  “Then…that’s all.”

                “Okay,” he repeated.  “Um, thank you?”

                “Don’t mention it,” she relaxed into a smile.  “Just don’t read it here and do what it says.”

                _Do what it says?_  he asked himself as he unlocked his office and dropped his stack of paperwork onto his desk.  _What is it, a scavenger hunt?_

                His watch informed him he still had a little over half an hour to kill before his meeting. With his interest officially piqued, Steve checked to make sure the door had locked behind him before he strolled around to his chair and slid Darcy’s file in front of him. 

                He felt oddly nervous as he spread his fingers wide over the cover and let out the breath he’d been holding.  “You’re being an idiot,” he said out loud, shaking his head.  He was.  It was _Darcy_ who had given this to him.  Darcy—despite the starring role she frequently played in his less-gentlemanly daydreams—was his friend.  She wouldn’t send him anything that—

                “Oh for God’s sake, Rogers,” he cut himself off and flipped open the folder.  He blinked.  It was a letter.  That’s all.  Just a letter.  He couldn’t even remember the last time someone had sent him a letter.

                Well, he _could_.  But that was a different story.

                He rolled his eyes at his own nerves; he didn’t even know what he’d been expecting.  He felt himself smile, thinking it was a little odd that she’d typed it out, but maybe her handwriting was messy?  And she’d certainly written a lot so… Steve shook his head again and began to read.

                _Dear Steve,_

_I have a confession to make: I have a ridiculous crush on you.  I call it ridiculous because even though I’m a grown, adult woman who is fairly confident in her own fabulousness, I seem to devolve into a tongue-tied teenager whenever you’re around.  So let me take advantage of this wildly inappropriate venue to tell you how I really feel._

_Intrigued, mostly.  And excited when I know you’re coming down to visit me.  And that fluttery nervousness I haven’t experienced since I was a kid._

_Your kindness intrigues me, and your compassion.  I want to know not just what you think but how you think and see things the way you see them.  I want you to show me around the city and tell me what you remember; not because it would be funny or charming or part of your Captain America shtick, but because I want to know what the world used to look like and I want to understand all of the changes and advancements I take for granted._

Steve couldn’t help this smile that turned up his lips.  She had a crush on him, too.  He wasn’t crazy.

_I also wonder how it would feel to run my tongue along the edge of your jaw and if you’re the kind of guy who would like it if I scraped my fingernails down your back._

His brow furrowed as he read her last sentence.  He read it twice more just to be sure he hadn’t imagined anything. Nope.  It said what he thought it had.

 _Before I go any farther, let me say that if this is too forward or if this creeps you out then you should definitely,_ definitely _not read the next part of this letter._

_You rebel.  You’re okay in my book._

_Since you’re still reading, can I tell you how often you play a role in my fantasies?  How much time I spend wondering how your skin tastes, how your hands would feel against me?  How thoughts of you keep me nice and wet while I count the hours until I can get home and slide my fingers between my thighs and think of you until I come apart?_

Steve’s heart was pounding in his ears.  He swallowed hard and tried not to react to the thought of Darcy had just put in his head.  It was no good—all he could think of was her soft, creamy skin, her short, slim fingers, her full bottom lip pulled between her teeth to muffle her moans.

_Still with me, handsome?_

_Okay then, let’s talk about how badly I want you to fuck me at work.  Not sweet and slow and gentle—I want you to press me up against the filing cabinets and drive your cock into me again and again until you have to cover my mouth to keep me from screaming.  And I_ would _scream, Steve, if you didn’t keep me quiet.  I want you to fuck me hard and fast until I’m hoarse from screaming your name._

_Don’t worry, you can take your time later. I’ve got all kinds of questions about you that I need answered before I’m satisfied.  I want to know what you look like when I’m on my knees, looking up at you with my lips around your cock.  You’re always so well-composed, so put together.  I want to know what it takes to shake you loose.  I want to feel your hands in my hair when I make you come.  I’d want you to flood my mouth and for you, Steve?   For you, I’d take every last drop you had to give me.  I bet you taste delicious._

                Jesus Christ.

                Steve was achingly hard, his erection tenting forcefully against his pants.  His breathing was heavy as he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to get it together.  He couldn’t do this here.  He couldn't believe he was reading this.  How long had she felt this way?  How long had she been trying to give him this letter?

 _I want to know how those lips of yours feel when they’re parted against mine, when your tongue is circling and sucking on my clit.  Here’s where I want you to go slow, to memorize my every curve and detail.  I want you to flatten your hands against my hips and hold me down to keep me from bucking against you.  I want to feel your tongue dipping into me and feel your fingers sink into my skin so hard that I have bruises for days._  

_Do you ever think of me like this, Steve?  Do you ever take your cock in those big, beautiful hands and imagine it’s me working you over?  That it’s me with you in the shower or under the sheets at night?  I think you might._

His heart was hammering; his mouth had run dry at the idea of her in the shower with him, the water running down the planes of her back and over her curves.  Those big, beautiful breasts of hers bouncing as he held her against the wall and thrust up into her.  His hand moved from the desk to palm himself through the fabric of his pants in a feeble attempt to calm himself down.

_I hope you do…because if you don’t, if the thought’s never even crossed your mind, then I’m probably going to be out of a job pretty soon.  But you know what?  It would be worth it to see if this letter made you think of me, all alone in my dark little corner, waiting for you to pay me a visit.  It was worth it to get all of this out of my head and out into the open._

_I hope I haven’t scared you off for good, Steve.  I just wanted to make sure you understand that where I’m concerned, you have an open invitation._

_So don’t keep me waiting, soldier._

                Three sharp knocks on his door brought his attention back to his office and sent his heart plummeting to the floor.  “Steve!  Open up!  We gotta go!”  Natasha’s voice called through the intercom.  He felt his eyes widen and he contemplated the physics of standing up for exactly one second before the door slid open and she let herself in, followed closely by Barton.

                “Hey,” he said in a terrible attempt at casual as he slammed shut the file in front of him.  “Ten o’clock already?”

                “Mmhmm,” Natasha exchanged a glance with her partner and eyed him carefully.  “Did you get the files?  Coulson was asking.”

                Steve swallowed hard and nodded.  “Uh-huh,” he said and placed Darcy’s letter carefully in his locked top drawer.

                _Sister Dolores Ann,_ his brain was demanding. _Think of Sister Dolores Ann.  Catholic school.  Rosary beads._ Images of the stone-faced nun who had wrapped his knuckles with a ruler for years flooded his mind, shoving the idea of Darcy out of the way, melting his erection with shocking efficiency. 

                God bless Catholic guilt. Destroyer of healthy sexual urges for two millennia.

                Natasha and Barton were looking at him expectantly.  “So…you joining us?” Clint asked after an unnecessarily long pause. 

                Steve took a deep breath and took one more moment to get himself together before he stood up.

                “Yeah, no. No, I'm good. We can go,” he grabbed the correct files from the corner of his desk and tried to figure out how he was supposed to get through the next few hours with her last words echoing in his head.

                _Don’t keep me waiting, soldier._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *wince again* Let me know how I did?
> 
> Oh, and also, the onion soup hangover cure is surprisingly efficient.
> 
> And apparently, so are thoughts of angry nuns as a hard-on cure, according to my dude friends.


	3. Repeat as Needed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for making my first venture into this fandom such a fun and exciting one. I hope you like the conclusion. I know I just posted the second part yesterday, but the ending was all written so...why wait? Hope you've all enjoyed reading as much as I've enjoyed writing this little story.

 

 

                Darcy felt sick and it had nothing to do with her still-lingering hangover.  Jane and her infinite pushiness had forced her hand and left her stewing in the basement with her stomach in knots.  Stewing while she had _actual_ work to do.  Like, work that wasn’t just sitting around staring at the computer.  Coulson had tasked her with her re-organizing the Russian archives in a way that made sense to someone other than Romanov. 

                It was a job that had left her on the cold cement floor of the archives, separated from her computer and her desk, with only the bag of gummy bears Jane had purchased for her earlier and her phone to keep her company. 

                It was, in fact, one of the worst ways to spend a Friday that Darcy could remember. 

                The only bright spot was the flood of positive emails she was getting in response to what she’d posted last night.  Every few minutes her phone buzzed with a new email. 

                _Love this approach,_ the most recent one said, _I would have never have thought of writing it TO him.  So fun!_

Darcy smiled, despite her anxiety-twisted stomach and decided she’d earned herself a quick break as she scrolled to the next one.  _Oh my God. So sexy!  I just want to send this to my work-crush and see what happens._

She frowned and furrowed her eyebrows.  “Ew, don’t do that,” she warned aloud to her cellphone.  “That’s creepy.”

                She reached for her gummy bears as she read another, trying to take her mind off Steve upstairs.  Steve, who had been the cutest thing in shoes when he adjusted her glasses for her.  Steve, who looked so confused when he saw her up on his floor and had accepted her attempt at smooth and mysterious without a second thought.  Steve, who was taking an almost unforgiveable amount of time to read and respond to her note.

                _Who is Steve?_ The third review read, making her blood boil.  _I thought this was a Captain America blog._

“Oh, fuck you,” she muttered with her mouth full of sour gummies.  With a few quick taps of her thumbs, she deleted that comment and went back to reading the reactions to what she’d written in her drunken stupor.

                She didn’t _actually_ recall writing it.  She was certain that if she looked closely, it was full of typos and grammatical errors that would make her sober mind blush, but the content wasn’t bad.  The letter idea had been a bit on the nose—a bit too meta—if she was honest with herself, but Drunk Darcy does what Drunk Darcy wants.  And there was always time for a rewrite or two before she decided if she wanted to do anything else with it.

                Anything other than delete it out of shame.

                She’d printed it out in the hopes of revising it with the old red pen as another endlessly boring afternoon stretched out ahead of her, but Coulson’s new assignment had derailed that idea.

                Darcy slammed her head back into the cold steel of the filing cabinet, the harsh _CLANG_ echoed throughout the basement.  She checked her texts for the millionth time.  Nothing from Steve.  Still.  Almost seven entire hours of nothing from Steve.

                Four-hundred and twenty minutes.

                A lot of minutes when you were checking your phone at the top of each of them.

                Goddamn Jane and her insistence.  Her know-it-all grabby hands stealing the page from Darcy’s notebook and shoving it into a file folder before she could look it over for the millionth time and forcing her to deliver it without another chance to second guess herself.  Trapping her in this case of self-doubt and obsessive cellphone checking that had her battery draining and her nerves on edge.

                “Darcy?” Steve’s voice carried from the front of the room.  He sounded uncertain, which was probably a bad thing, but her heart jumped up into her throat anyway.  She scrambled to her feet and brushed herself off.

                “Back here!” she called, jumping up and waving her hands, knowing just the tips of her fingers would be visible over the top of the filing cabinets.  “Give me a second!”  She stuffed the pile of records she’d been working on back into a drawer and gathered her gummy bears and discarded empty coffee cups.  She stood and tugged her clothes back into their rightful places and knocked her glasses back into position on her face.  She took one deep, measured breath and put on a smile as she left her little alley and found Steve standing at her desk, looking conflicted.

                Uh oh.  Conflicted wasn’t a good look on Steve.

                Well, it was.  Every look was a good look on Steve.

                But it still made her stomach twist and her throat run dry.  Clearly, he hadn’t read to the end of the note.  She’d debated for days about adding that PS.  Fat lot of good it had done her.  She sighed and dropped her trash into the bin and wandered back behind her desk.  “What can I do for ya, Steve?”

                She stopped and took in his appearance with a frown; white t-shirt, running pants, wet hair.  “Were you just at the gym?”

                He looked down and blushed.  Actually blushed. “Uh, yeah,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I had to shower.”  Darcy tried—she tried _so_ hard—not to think of him in the shower.  Tried not to think of how the water would look, racing down the lines and contours of his stomach.  Tried to think of anything else, but it was pointless, especially after what he said next. “You uh, you gave me a lot to think about.”

                She choked on her tongue.  “In the shower?” she croaked uncertainly. 

                The tops of his ears were still red.  “Well, I thought about it all day,” he admitted.  “But the shower seemed the best place to uh,” he cleared his throat, “really mull it over.”

                “Wow,” she said, surprising herself with her tone.  “You _really_ didn’t bother reading that PS, did you?”

                His eyes shot up.  “What?  What PS?”

                She rolled hers.  “The PS at the end of my stupid note, Steve,” she said, any nervousness swiftly replaced by self-loathing.  Goddamn crush.  Goddamn feelings.  Goddamn workplace entanglements.  “The one that says, _quite plainly,_ if you’re not into this, don’t make it weird, let’s just be friends?” 

                His eyebrows almost bumped together in confusion.  “…There was no PS on the letter you gave me.”

                “Uh, yes there was.  Clearly you didn’t read it very closely.”

                He let out a strangled sort of laugh. “I read it _nine_ times, Darcy.  I’m pretty sure I have it memorized.  Trust me when I say—” he paused for a minute and refocused his argument.  “And it wasn’t stupid, by the way,” he said, a little more gently.  “It was…unexpected and a little forward and honestly, pretty intense,” this he said more to himself than to her.  If he’d looked up, he would have seen her bewilderment sooner.  “But I kind of…” he _did_ look up at that point and trailed off mid-babble.  “What?”

                “Steve,” Darcy narrowed her eyes and stared at him. “What. The actual hell. Are you talking about?”

                He had this look that was bordering on frustrated with a side of angry.  “Look, Darcy, it was a risky thing that you did this morning.  I understand that you might have had second thoughts after you did it, but you really can’t just hand me a letter telling me how much you want me to fuck you against the filing cabinets and then act like you have no idea what I’m talking about.”  Steve stopped short and clamped his lips together.  He didn’t look angry anymore—just a little mortified.

                But his mild mortification was nothing as the cold, horrible reality of what he was saying dawned on her.  Darcy felt her eyes widen to perfect circles as her hand came up to cover her mouth.  “Oh my God,” she said, her words muffled against her palm.  “Oh.  Oh. My. _God._ ” 

                His expression had shifted back to confused.  “Darcy?”

                She dropped down suddenly to her bag and removed her notebook—still stuffed with the pages she’d printed out the night before, but missing one very important page.  One horribly, life-ruiningly, important page.  Where that page _should_ have been, right on top, where Darcy had thought she’d left it, was her original note to Steve.  Pristine.  Untouched.  Unread.

                “She put the wrong letter in the file,” she said softly, staring down at the note that had seemed so smooth, so adorable only a few hours ago.

                Steve blinked.  “What?  Who put what letter in the file?”

                “Jane,” she said, a feeling of numbness spreading over her.  “She was sick of me talking about you—so she grabbed my note out of my notebook and put it in the folder…only...she grabbed the wrong thing because....”  She gave a joyless chuckle and slid off of her stool.  “Because I am sinner in the hands of an angry God, apparently,” she said, almost to herself.  She removed the intended invitation from her notebook and handed it to him.  She swallowed hard, wondering just how fired she was going to get for this.  Would Coulson give her a reference?  Would Steve mention it, or just say he’d rather she work somewhere else?  Maybe he’d be nice and just ask that she be reassigned.  To like, Siberia or something.  Far away from people.  Because apparently, people were something she wasn’t qualified to deal with.  “This is what you were supposed to get,” she said, coming around her desk as he looked down at the note in his hands with confusion.  “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be in the panic room…lighting myself on fire.”

                She had just made it past him when she felt his hand on her arm; he grabbed her gently, right above her elbow.  “Darcy,” he said, his voice low and serious.  “Wait.”

                She blew out a breath that fluttered her hair against her face as he turned her around to face him.  “Steve,” she tried her hardest to give him a no-hard-feelings smile, but it faltered as it tried to reach her eyes.  She wanted him to leave.  To go far, far away and leave her to her humiliation.  “Can you please just—”

                “I liked your letter, Darcy,” he said finally, not letting go of her arm.

                She blinked in confusion.  “You did?”

                He bit back a bashful smile.  “Yeah.”  His throat bobbed with a swallow.  “I uh, I like just about everything that you do, actually.  I’ve been coming down here every day for weeks trying to work up the guts to ask you out and when that letter came across my desk I—I honestly couldn’t believe it.”

                Her head was feeling fuzzy with how close he was standing—close enough to smell his soap and his aftershave.  Her heart was pounding in her ears, making it difficult to focus on all of the things compounding all at once.  She tilted her head to one side.  “Wait—did you say you read it _nine_ times?”

                He glanced down at the floor between them.  “Uh, yeah,” he said, his reddened cheeks matching his ears.  “Yes,” he cleared his throat and looked up.  “Yes, I did.”

                “I’m really not…” she stopped and bit her lip.  “I mean, I don’t really think like that…” His face fell for a  moment and she rushed on, realizing how that sounded.  “No, no,” she put her hands up.  “No, I mean, obviously, I _do_ think like that.  Probably too much, really,” she considered with a thoughtful tilt of her head, almost missing the way he smiled to himself.  “But I’m not usually so quick to just…y’know…” she gulped down her shame. “Throw it out there like that.”  She tapped the paper he still held in his hand.  “This is really more my style.”

                Steve looked down at her note and smiled again.  He stepped away from her and turned back to the desk.  Darcy missed his warmth and the way his scent had been invading her senses almost instantly.  He bent over the desk for a moment before he turned back and handed back her piece of paper.  She looked down at it, unable to help the grin that split across her face at the way he’d circled _YES_ and drawn an enthusiastic little smiling face next to it.

                “Maybe we could start with this one,” he suggested gently, tilting her chin up to meet his gaze before he smirked, “And see if we can’t work up to the other one later.”

                Darcy smiled as his lips met hers.  He kissed her softly, insistently, sliding his hand into her hair and sending a spiral of excitement and desire all the way down to her toes. 

                Kissing Steve in real life was nothing like fantasizing about it.

                It was so much better.

 

_fin_

**Author's Note:**

> “Fandom bicycle” is so totally not original. I blame Tumblr.
> 
> Also...tell me what you thought? 
> 
> *wince*


End file.
